


a christmas to remember

by superdupergust



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: 'tis the season for tropes, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Holidays, Skiing, soccer player!chris and art teacher!tobin, there's only one bed, what's a christmas fic without mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27988200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superdupergust/pseuds/superdupergust
Summary: "We're sharing a bedroom?"Christen nods. "Oh, yeah, I hope that's okay.""Please, you could stick me in the bathtub for all I care. Have you seen these hills? They're gonna be wicked."Christen and Tobin have to fake a relationship during a long weekend at a ski resort.What could go wrong?Except for the fact that Christen maybe, possibly, might want the whole thing to be real. So. There is that.
Relationships: Tobin Heath/Christen Press
Comments: 53
Kudos: 454
Collections: Preathfics Winter 2020 Collection





	a christmas to remember

**Author's Note:**

> So, fun fact: over half of this fic was written today, mostly over the last few hours, so a scarily large portion of this hasn't seen a single bit of editing. Keep that warning in mind, but I hope it's enjoyable regardless!
> 
> Title from "A Christmas to Remember" by Dolly Parton & Kenny Rogers, which has always made me want to write a Christmas love story set at a ski lodge. And speaking of music, I listened to "Winter Time" by Sabrina Claudio & Alicia Keys about 437289 times while writing this. Give it a listen if a soft wlw holiday duet sounds like your jam.

Christen Press is an honest person.

Of course she fibs now and then, but she's generally one for candor, and never has she understood how people get caught up in webs of lies. It’s one of the reasons she doesn’t care for television. Shows rely so heavily on nonsensical, manufactured drama when the solution is always so simple:  _ just tell the damn truth. _

She’s never realized that maybe it’s not quite that simple.

After all, people don’t jump right into a fully woven web of deception, gleefully rolling around until they’re entangled.

It’s more subtle than that.

"Coming out with us tonight?" Pinoe asks in the locker room after practice one evening.

"No, I don’t think so."

It only takes one word, one tiny, insignificant wisp of silky thread.

"What, you have a hot date?"

And the weaving process begins.

"Yeah."

Christen doesn’t know why she says it, except that she’s exhausted and dirty, and all she wants is to get to her hotel room and take a long, hot bath. Maybe use some of her new lavender bath salts, listen to a podcast.

She's imagining it already, the peace and quiet she'll have while Sonny is out with the others.

"When did you have a chance to make a date?" Ali asks from the next locker over, and Christen curses the small confines of the room.

It's a valid question, since camps aren't exactly known for their oodles of free time, and tonight is the first night they don't have a meeting to attend after dinner. Christen can feel herself getting flustered as she scrambles to come up with a response.

"It's…a Skype date. With my girlfriend," she adds on a wave of inspiration.

"Excuse me? You have a girlfriend, and you've been holding out on us?"

"What’s going on?" Ashlyn asks, padding back over from the showers with a towel wrapped around her middle and her hair still dripping wet.

"Pressi has a girlfriend!"

"Really?" Ashlyn turns toward Christen, her brows raised.

If it had just been Pinoe, she probably would have stopped the whole thing then. Said, "No, not really. Don’t know why I said that," and then laughed it off.

But she has three different faces staring at her and her legs ache and she doesn't know how to backtrack without it turning into a whole thing, so she just says, "Yep."

"Aw, what's her name?" Pinoe asks, grinning as she tugs on a fresh shirt.

"Tobin."

It’s the first name that pops into her head, the first person she thinks of who isn’t a part of her soccer life.

Who also happens to be her best friend. And the person who maybe, sometimes, if she lets herself think about it, she would like to be her girlfriend.

But that's neither here nor there.

"Cool name," Pinoe says.

Christen laughs. "Yeah, I guess."

"You've talked about her before, haven't you?" Ali asks. "Were you guys friends first?"

"Um, yeah," Christen says again, and she doesn't know why she can't say that word and she doesn't know why a smile grows on her face, and she bites her lip and turns back to her locker, forgetting what she needs to grab next, just knowing she needs to get out of here.

"Look at that smile." Ali beams. "You're so smitten. How long have you two-"

They're interrupted by the splintering  _ crash _ of broken glass at the other end of the locker room and several exclamations of profanity.

Later, it will become clear that the ruckus was caused by Sonny dropping her water bottle. This, of course, would just be another day for Sonny, except someone thought it would be a good idea to give her one of those sustainable glass bottles.

Turns out, it did not combine well with the cement floor of the locker room.

No one is injured, but in the hubbub that follows, Christen’s fictional love life is, thankfully, forgotten by everyone.

Well.

Almost everyone.

Three weeks pass, and she’s back in Utah, at the coffee shop closest to the field. Normally she'd be home by now, but this is the team's go-to hangout spot, and since it’s Tziarra’s birthday, they’re all out celebrating after practice.

Christen is sitting at the bar, waiting for her latte, and she feels her phone vibrate in her pocket. She pulls it out, sees a meme from Tobin, and chuckles, rolling her eyes. When she lifts them again, she finds a pale redhead with heavy lipstick and kind eyes leaning toward her.

"Is this seat taken?"

"Oh, um," Christen hesitates. She's used to being hit on in bars, but not usually in coffee shops. Not when she's freshly showered and makeupless, her hair tied back in a tight bun. Still, the woman seems nice enough. "No. It isn't." She slides her phone back into her pocket. "I'm Christen."

"Sarah." The woman reaches out to shake her hand, her smile revealing slightly crooked front teeth that are somehow totally endearing.

"I promise I don't normally just go up and start talking to random women in coffee shops, but I saw you, and I just had to take a shot."

Christen feels her cheeks flush. "Oh my gosh, you really don't-"

"Hey, Chris?" Becky appears over her right shoulder, and Christen turns toward her.

"Hmm?"

"Your latte's ready. And we're about to do presents." She hands over Christen's mug and inclines her head toward the back of the lobby where most of her teammates are gathered.

Christen nods. "Oh, great. Thanks."

She means the words as a dismissal, but Becky stays there for a long second, and taking the hint, Christen stands, turning back toward Sarah.

"Looks like duty calls. It was really nice to meet you, though," Christen says, giving her smile she hopes the other woman can tell is genuine. Still, they didn't quite interact enough for Christen to be comfortable giving out her personal information, so she just feels a fleeting moment of disappointment at the lost possibility. 

Sarah looks a little confused, but she covers it quickly, smiling and murmuring a few pleasantries before Christen and Becky walk away.

"What was that?" Christen asks, quietly.

"It looked like she was hitting on you."

"And…?"

"I know you have a girlfriend…" Christen doesn't hear the next few words she says, trying to figure out why on earth Becky would think that, and-  _ oh _ . Right. She tunes back in. "...trying to be a good wingwoman. Or, y’know. Whatever the opposite of a wingwoman is. Sorry if I overstepped?"

They've reached the back of the lobby, but they stay a few feet back from the crowded mass of players.

"No," Christen clears her throat. "Not at all. I appreciate it. I just, uh, didn’t realize you knew."

"Yeah, sorry, I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but I was in the locker room at camp when you were talking about it."

"No problem."

Becky doesn't say anything for a long moment, and Christen thinks the conversation has come to an end, but then Becky grins and leans a little closer, keeping her voice lowered, "Can I just say I totally called it? That time she came to pick you up from practice? She was throwing out some major heart eyes."

"What? No, she wasn’t," Christen scoffs, and then realizes that’s not at all a thing she should say about her girlfriend. "I mean, um. We were just friends. Then. That was before the whole...dating thing."

"Could’ve fooled me. Kelley thought so, too. So, who asked who out, anyway?"

Becky's eyes are bright and curious, and she's one of the people Christen respects most on either of the teams she plays on, and she knows that if she could come clean to anyone, Becky would probably be the easiest, the one who wouldn't too much of a fuss.

Christen chews the inside of her lip and then takes a deep breath. "Actually," she starts, but she's cut off by Corsie climbing up onto the chair right next to her. 

"Everybody, on three!" she booms out in her Scottish accent. "One, two, three!  _ Happy birthday to you… _ "

The moment passes, Christen starts singing, and she ignores the feeling in her gut that she’s just passed the last moment she could have confessed without consequences.

But then, she figures...well, maybe there don't need to be any.

Somehow, the word gets around - probably someone eavesdropping at the coffee shop - and soon it's common knowledge that Christen is off the market.

But a month passes and then two, and as it turns out, having a fake girlfriend is pretty harmless, as far as lies go. It’s the perfect excuse to get out of plans she doesn’t want to be a part of without hurting anyone’s feelings, and she doesn’t even have to mess with all the dating nonsense. It’s almost better than the real thing.

(Well, minus the companionship. And the orgasms. But she's pretty good at giving herself the latter, and she has Tobin for the former.

And if that's slightly messed up, well. It's her life to live.)

  
  


##

There’s a little bistro right next to Christen’s apartment that makes the best soup in the world. She and Tobin have met there at least once every week or two since she moved to Salt Lake City two years before, knowing absolutely no one outside of her national teammates.

Christen sits at their favorite table next to the window, tapping idly on the menu she doesn’t even need to open. She's waiting for Tobin to show up, even though she herself was several minutes late, and as she waits, she flashes back to the day they first met, when she was sitting at this exact table.

_ "You’re Christen Press." _

_ There’s a woman with brunette hair standing in front of the table, staring at her with a lopsided grin and slightly widened, deep brown eyes. _

_ Christen smiles. "I am. And you’re Tobin?" _

_ "Got it in one. Sorry I’m a little late," she says, and Christen is enchanted with the way she drawls her words, lingers just an extra fraction of a second on each one. _

_ "Oh, you're not. I was just early, for once." _

_ Tobin chews on her bottom lip for a second and then continues, "Fuck, I’m sorry, I swore to your sister I wouldn’t get starstruck, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling it a little right now." _

_ Christen laughs. "Relax, I’m not that big of a deal." _

_ "Um, you’re a legend." _

_ "It’s not like I’m Mia Hamm or anything." _

_ Tobin waves the comment away and plops down in the chair opposite her. "Your goal against England? Damn.  _ **_Damn_ ** _ ," she repeats, as though once just isn’t enough to convey the lengths to which she’s impressed. _

_ "That was a pretty good one, huh?" Christen allows herself a little smirk, because, well, yeah. It was an epic goal. _

_ Tobin’s grin widens. "It was." _

_ Christen doesn’t know what to say after that, because something about the way Tobin’s face transforms with that wide grin…it makes her lose track of her thoughts. _

_ Christen hides behind the menu, hoping that Tobin won’t notice the heat seeping into her cheeks. _

_ "So, have you been here before?" Christen asks. _

_ "Yeah, I just live a couple blocks down, so I’ve been here a few times. Their BLT is to die for." _

_ "Noted." _

_ Christen examines her menu, and they discuss the food options until the waitress comes to take their order. After she leaves, Tobin leans back in her chair and winks at her. "So, I know the basics about you. What do you know about me?" _

_ "I know your name is Tobin." _

_ Tobin raises her brows. "Wow, that's where we're at, huh?" _

_ "Hush, I'm just getting started. You went to school with Channing. You’re an…art teacher? Right?" _

_ Tobin nods, and Christen continues. "Let’s see, what else…I know you agreed to meet a complete stranger and show her around the city, just because you were friends with her sister in college. So that means you’re a pretty nice person, probably." _

_ Tobin chuckles. _

_ "How’d I do?" _

_ "Right on all counts. I teach high school art at SLC North. I also coach the girls’ soccer team." _

_ "Oh, nice! I know Channing said you played in college, but…" Christen trails off. _

_ Tobin waits for her to continue, but when Christen says nothing further, Tobin inclines her head in understanding. "But she said it might be a bit of a sore subject?" _

_ Christen nods. _

_ "No worries. That was a long time ago. Bad string of injuries with even worse timing. The pros and I just weren't meant to be." She says it with a shrug, and Christen can't even imagine what it must have taken for her to reach this stage of acceptance. "But I like what I do now. You should see the group I'm coaching this year. They're all amazing, but there are a couple...they could be on the National Team one day, I swear." _

_ "I'd love to meet them sometime." _

_ Tobin's eyes widen. "Really? I mean, if you're just saying that to be nice, no big deal. But if you think about it and decide you want to drop in on a practice sometime, I know that would mean the world to them." _

"Hey, Chris."

Christen is snapped out of her daydream as Tobin sits down opposite her. This Tobin is two years older than the one of her memory, her hair a little longer, and she's wearing a parka instead of a tank top, but her smile is just as vibrant as ever.

(It still takes Christen’s breath away as much as it did the very first time, but she’s gotten better at ignoring it.)

"Sorry, I stayed late to help one of my students set up her booth for the exhibit tomorrow, and I couldn't text because I left my phone at home this morning, but I'm here now, and I'm prepared to pay to make up for you having to wait for me."

Christen laughs. "Of course you did."

"Hey, rude. I was going to offer to pay to make up for you having to wait, but I'm taking it back now."

"You can't rescind an offer if it was never made in the first place," Christen states, and nods slowly. 

"Hmm. Good point."

"I did take a business class in high school once."

"You'd be a great CEO."

"Thanks."

"And you'd rock those power suits, too." Tobin's eyes scan over her, and Christen sits very still and tries not to let her heart speed up.

Tobin doesn't say anything for a moment, and Christen's heart disobeys her orders and begins thudding hard in her chest, watching as Tobin's eyes-

-come back up to meet hers, not a trace of anything more than friendly in them.

Damn it.

"So, how are the Hawaii plans coming? Have you packed your bags yet?" Christen asks, internally lecturing her stupid organs to get themselves together.

"Oh, uh…" Tobin's face, so bright just a minute ago, dims noticeably.

Christen frowns. "Haven’t you bought the tickets? They’ll start skyrocketing soon if they haven’t already."

The waitress interrupts them, placing their soups and sandwiches down in front of them before retreating.

"So?" Christen prompts, dipping her sandwich into her soup.

"I’ve decided to hang around for winter break, actually."

"What?" Christen pauses with her sandwich halfway to her mouth, and a dribble of soup run down onto her wrist. She grabs a napkin to dab it away. "What happened to Kalalau Trail? You were so pumped."

"Tell me about it." Tobin takes a bite and chews forcefully. "You know how my car crapped out last month? I had to turn the Vacation Fund into the New Used Car Fund."

"Ugh, I’m so sorry."

Tobin shrugs, but Christen can tell from the way her mouth turns down at the edges that she is more upset than she is trying to let on.

"So, no plans for winter vacation?"

"Nah. I’ll still be heading back to Jersey for a couple days at Christmas, but other than that, I’ll just be hanging out."

"That sucks. You really need to tell you school to start you paying more than, like, 20% of what you actually deserve."

Tobin snorts. "I'll get right on that."

"Of course, even if they did, you'd probably spend the difference in supplies for your students."

Tobin bows her head. "Busted." She gets a far-off look. "Still, though. I’d keep enough for that trip. I really wanted to do Kalalau." She blows out a breath, then takes a sip of her drink. "Oh, well. Guess there’s always next year."

Christen can't take the sadness in her eyes, feels it as a deep ache inside her chest. For a wild second, she imagines surprising Tobin with an all expenses paid trip to Hawaii. Between the World Cup winnings last year and the bonus from the Royals' NWSL Championship win this year, she's doing pretty well. She could afford it easily.

But she knows Tobin would never accept it in a million years.

Then a thought pops into Christen's head.

"Hey, I have an idea."

"What?"

"Come with me."

"What?"

"Come with me. On the ski trip. Remember? The Royals sponsor who gave us passes for a free long weekend? I know it's no crazy cliffside trail or anything, but you love skiing, right?"

It's an obvious question. Tobin loves anything and everything outdoors.

"You know I do. But wouldn't you need to pay to bring someone else?"

Christen shakes her head. "No, it was for me and a plus one. But the days they gave me were while you were gonna be in Hawaii, so I didn't ask. But now you'll be here, and I'm sure it's not too late to add you to my reservation."

"You sure you'd want me there?"

Christen frowns in a mock-offended fashion. "I'm not even going to answer that."

Then Tobin smiles a bright smile, the first since Hawaii was brought up. "I'm in."

Five minutes later, Christen is washing her hands in the restroom when it hits her.

Tobin.

She’s invited Tobin to spend three days with her teammates.

Her teammates, who thinks Tobin is her girlfriend.

_ Oh, fuck. _

She stands at the sink for a full two minutes, letting the water rush over her fingers as she mechanically lathers and rinses four times over while she thinks.

She can’t retract the invitation, not after making Tobin smile like that. Besides, she doesn't want to.

Maybe she could Tobin by her middle name for the whole trip? She does it sometimes now just to be funny, but she could probably come up with an excuse for doing it for a full weekend.

But no, a few of them have already met Tobin, because she's picked Christen up from practice before. Becky would remember her, and Kelley probably would, too.

She could just tell everyone they broke up, but she can't just bring it up in casual conversation since they're on break right now. It's not like she would just randomly announce it in the group chat. Plus, the trip is only two weeks away. No one would go on a ski retreat with their ex two weeks after breaking up.

There's really only one logical solution. 

Unfortunately, that plan involves telling Tobin.

But Christen has been washing her hands long enough that her fingers are beginning to prune, and she can't think of an option that doesn't involve telling someone about the whole charade.

On one hand, two entire teams.

On the other, only one person.

She's going to tell Tobin.

Christen just hopes she finds the whole thing amusing and doesn't read anything into it.

Because there's nothing to read into, she reminds herself. It's a simple fib that spiraled. That's all.

Heaving a sigh and finally drying her hands, Christen exits the bathroom and tries to compose her words.

Tobin gives her a slightly worried look but thankfully doesn't comment about the length of time she was gone.

Christen puts a spoonful of soup into her mouth, only to find that it's gone cold. She swallows anyway, and then clears her throat. "So. Uh. Funny story I should mention."

"Do tell," Tobin eyes flash with curiosity as she leans forward.

"At least, I hope you'll think it's funny. It's also kind of weird. I should warn you about that beforehand. And you should realize I know that and that I really wouldn't have even done this in the first place if I'd known it would snowball like this, and-"

"Chris. Breathe."

Obediently, Christen pauses to take a breath.

"Never mind the disclaimers. I promise I won't be mad, whatever it is. Just spit it out."

"I told people we're dating."

Tobin jerks backwards like the words are a physical blow, and her eyebrows skyrocket up toward her hairline. "Oh. Uh," she stammers, letting out a confused chuckle. "Didn't expect that." She reaches up to scratch her chin and thinks silently for a few seconds. "Okay. I'm not upset, at all. I just have questions, like...why?"

"Because I'm an idiot."

Tobin snorts.

"I don't even know, honestly. I was at camp, and everyone wanted to go out, but I was exhausted, and they wouldn't take no for an answer. So I said I had plans to Skype with my girlfriend. Then they asked for a name, and you were the first person I thought of who wasn't one of my teammates or, like, related to me, so-"

"Hold up." Tobin cocks a brow. "Let me get this straight. When imagining women to date, you thought of people you were related to before thinking of me?"

"No, that's not- I mean-"

"You must have some really hot cousins. When's your next family reunion? I might tag along."

Christen grabs her napkin, balls it up, and tosses it at Tobin. "Shut up, don't be gross. You know what I meant."

Tobin laughs. "I know. Go on."

Christen rolls her eyes. "Anyway. So, long story short, both my teams now think we're dating."

"Ah."

"It's just been really convenient, you know? If I don't want to go somewhere, I just say I have a date, and presto."

Tobin just stares at her.

"I know. It's terrible."

"Not really. Just seems like a lot of trouble to go through. Happy to be of help, though, I guess," Tobin chuckles. "Anyway, feel free to uninvite me. I won't be hurt."

"No! That's ridiculous. You deserve a a vacation. And you know this is something you'd love."

"So, then...what are you proposing?"

"Uh," Christen looks down, wishing she still had her napkin to play with. Instead, she picks up a discarded crust on the plate and starts breaking it into tiny pieces. "I was thinking we could pretend to be together? It's just a couple days. And since the passes were split up over two weekends, it would only be half the team. We would probably barely even see them. So it wouldn't be that big of a deal. And then in camp in January, I tell everyone we broke up, and boom, everything goes back to normal."

"You seem to have given this an impressive amount of thought."

"Well, I washed my hands for like ten minutes while I was thinking about it."

"Oh,  _ that's _ what you were doing. I was worried. And also very glad I'd ordered the tomato soup instead of the chicken noodle."

Christen laughs. "Nope. Nothing wrong with the soup. Just your idiot best friend."

"Ah ah ah," Tobin waves a finger at her. "My idiot  _ girlfriend _ ."

Christen's breath catches in her throat, and she takes a drink, tries to drown the sensation.

"So, you're in?"

"I'm in."

This is such a terrible idea.

##

  
  


Christen is, of course, second guessing the decision with the first foot she sets inside the ski lodge . It's the kind of place people dream about when they imagine ski lodges. All exposed pine and lush carpet, with a huge stone fireplace, the fire just begging to be used to warm your fingers after a long day out in the early winter chill. Or to curl up next to with a nice book, enjoying the view of the snow without subjecting yourself to the inevitable chapped lips and runny nose that come from spending a day out in the freezing Utah air.

Not that Christen is under any misapprehension that Tobin will allow her to do such a thing. She might be able to sneak in a little in the afternoons, though.

They arrive on Thursday evening.

"Wow, babe, this place is gorgeous," Tobin says in a tone elevated just slightly, and she rests her chin on Christen's shoulder from behind, causing Christen's stomach to give a startled jump. She tries to control her inhale, the way her stomach tightens at the contact.

It's just a part. This is what they'll be doing the whole weekend.

But still...she cranes her head around, and there's not a teammate in sight.

She turns around and swats Tobin lightly on the bicep.

"Ow, what was that for?"

"There's no one around. You can just act normal."

"I don't know. I'm a method actor. It's hard for to turn it off and on, y'know."

Christen raises an eyebrow. "Okay, well, as long as you turn if off when we're in the bedroom."

"We're sharing a bedroom?"

Christen nods. "Oh, yeah, I hope that's okay. "

"Please, you could stick me in the bathtub for all I care. Have you  _ seen _ these hills? They're gonna be wicked." 

Christen can't help but smile at Tobin's enthusiasm as she gazes out the giant windows stretching up to the ceiling on each side of the giant fireplace.

Christen walks up to the front desk and checks in. The person at the desk has bright blue eyes, a jagged, asymmetrical haircut, and a friendly smile. They have Christen checked in within a few moments, hand over a small envelope.

"Here are the keycards to your cottage."

"Our...what?"

"Your cottage. It says here your reservation is for one of our private cottages?" the clerk says with a slightly confused frown.

"Oh, um, wow, cool. Sorry, this was a gift, and I didn't realize. I assumed it was just a room in the lodge."

The clerk brightens, clearly glad they're not about to be faced with an irate customer demanding different accommodations. "I see. Well, surprise!"

"What's a surprise?" Tobin asks, wondering over to join them.

"Apparently, we don't just get a room. We get one of their cottages."

"Dude, seriously?" Tobin turns to the clerk, who nods. "Sweet."

"It's nearby, as well, which is nice if you plan to join us for any of the nightly activities. Just turn right out of the parking lot, and it's the third cottage on the right. I would be happy to call someone help you unload your luggage if you'd like?"

"Oh, no, we're fine," Christen answers. "Thank you, though."

"Enjoy your stay."

"Thanks," Tobin responds as they turn to make their way outside.

They find the cottage with ease. It is, if anything, even more beautiful than the lodge. Perhaps because it's the same style of architecture as the lodge, but it's so small that it feels more picturesque, more intimate somehow.

That feeling only intensifies when Christen opens the front door to find the small interior. There's a door to the right that a quick glance reveals leads to a small kitchen nook, but the rest of the wall is taken up by the large stone fireplace. To the left are two doors that Christen assumes lead to the bedroom and bathroom. The room is well lit by the chandelier overhead, and even though it's dark outside, Christen's eyes are drawn to the huge window along the back wall, starting halfway up and stretching from end to end. There are navy blue curtains on each side, if they want privacy, but right now, all Christen wishes is that it was daylight, so she could see what must be an absolutely magnificent view of the mountains.

"Oh, wow." Tobin's voice behind her echoes Christen's thoughts.

"I know, right?"

"Wonder what the bedroom looks like."

"About to find out," Christen says, and she enters the doorway closest to the back wall, flipping on the switch to find that the theme continues in here. The bottom few feet are made of a simple but rich pine wood, and the rest of the wall is made of glass. And in the center of the room is a large, king-size bed.

Christen had assumed as much and had mentioned the situation to Tobin beforehand, who had simply shrugged and said, "I snore. As long as you're cool with that, I'm cool."

Christen still holds just a bit of trepidation, though. What if she gravitates toward Tobin in her sleep and wakes up in her arms?

She's been really good about ignoring the...unfortunate attraction that rears its ugly head on occasion. But she conjures up an image of a rumpled, freshly awakened Tobin giving her a gentle, sleepy smile, and it's...not good.

Christen gives herself a stern mental shake. She imagines Tobin having extra foul morning breath to break the spell.

She works with Tobin to bring their luggage into the bedroom.

"I claim the window side," Tobin says, dropping her backpack on the bed and wheeling her suitcase to a stop.

"Wow, not even gonna flip me for it?"

"I'm your guest, right?"

"We're both guests."

"But I'm the guest's guest, so that's like...double guest powers."

Christen snorts. Truthfully, she doesn't care one way or the other, so she gives in. "How can I compete with that."

"You can't."

Christen unzips her duffle and starts taking out the items that need to hang in the closet. Just as well that she's on the side nearest the closet, as she doubts Tobin has packed anything she'll be taking out of her bag until she needs to wear it.

"Oh, these must be the activities."

"Hm?"

Tobin picks up a brochure from the bedside table on the side nearest the window. "At the front desk. The clerk said something about festivities."

"Oh, yeah."

"Wow, they're really big on game nights here."

"What kind of game nights?"

"Doesn't say."

"Hmm. Dangerous. How do we know if it's a Scrabble night or a charades night? Very different feel."

"We could call them?" Tobin suggests.

"Or, and hear me out: we could stay here."

"Tonight? For sure. Tomorrow? We'll see."

"Sure, Tobin."

Tobin laughs at her tone and says nothing further for a few minutes, until Christen's stomach lets out a loud growl.

"I agree," Tobin comments. "Point well made. What are we doing for dinner, anyway?"

"It's all covered. They have a buffet in the lodge, or we can order room service."

"Oh,  _ that _ you know."

"Hey, I'm an athlete. Food is a very important element in my training."

Tobin laughs. "So, all we have do do is decide whether we're feeling social or not?"

"Yep." Christen hesitates, knowing that a few of her teammates are also here this weekend, but exhausted after a long day of training, errands, and then the two hour car trip. "What are you thinking?

Tobin chews her lip for a few seconds and then shoots Christen a hopeful grin. "Change into pajamas and order in?"

Christen gives her a relieved but teasing smile. "No need for the puppy dog eyes. You read my mind."

Tobin finds the room service menu next to the activities brochure, and they decide what to eat and make a combined effort to figure out how to order it from the tablet mounted to the bedroom wall next to the light switch.

They also discover that they can use the tablet to turn on music that pipes in from invisible speakers hidden somewhere in each room, as well as dim the lights, change the thermostat, or communicate any number of needs to the front desk.

"This is insane. I can't imagine how much this costs."

"I saw the rates when I went on the website. Trust me, you don't want to know."

"They just gave this to you? They must really like you guys."

"Well, we  _ are _ the champions," Christen says, and she can't help the smile the pulls up the sides of her lips, aware that she probably looks a little like she's gloating. But it's only been a little over a month since the final showdown versus Tobin's favorite team, the Portland Thorns.

"Don't rub it in."

"Hey!"

"You know I'm teasing. I'm so proud of you, Chris."

Christen clears her throat. "I believe someone mentioned something about pajamas."

They turn their backs to each other and change, and Christen very carefully does not look in the mirror above the dresser, which would give her a view of Tobin if she wanted.

As Christen tugs off her shirt, it occurs to her that Tobin is facing the window, which in the lit room against the darkness of the night, would function just as well. It would be so easy for Tobin to see her.

To look at her.

And Christen wonders if she will. 

Tobin is hard to read when it comes to things like this.

She'd been with Shirley for the first several months Christen knew her, but Tobin really hadn't acted much different around her than she did around Christen.

A couple times since Tobin started going on dates again a few months after they broke up, Christen has dropped very subtle hints, just to see if she's interested in being more than friends. But Tobin has never responded. And that's enough of an answer for Christen, because 

Because she doesn't want to ruin their friendship, but.

But.

But sometimes she thinks she can feel Tobin watching her when she's looking away. Sometimes she thinks that maybe the reason Tobin didn't respond is because she's not the type to pick up on subtle hints. Hints Christen probably made too subtly because she was afraid of what might happen if Tobin wasn't interested. Sometimes she thinks that Tobin must feel it, too. The way any room feels just a little warmer, just a little brighter when she walks in. Must feel the shivers that happen when Tobin nudges their shoulders together or grabs her hand to pull her over to look at a really cute dog or 

But most of the time, Christen is fully aware that she's just making it all up. Imagining things she wants to happen. 

And right now, Christen knows she needs to stop thinking about it. Especially not here, not now. Not this weekend, when the lines are going to be all blurred because of their act. She knows Tobin will act her part. Now, all Christen has to do is remember that she's acting.

And that's fine. It really is. 95% of the time, she's simply happy to be spending time with her best friend.

Like tonight. 

She pulls out the full set of worn flannel pajamas, the fabric as soft as butter. Not at all pajamas she would bring for a romantic evening, but this is just Tobin. And they're just friends, and these are her favorite pajamas. They've gotten her through two frigid Utah winters, and they'll see her through another.

When she turns, she sees Tobin has taken her hair out of her ponytail and shaken it out, and the tresses fall down along her oversized t-shirt, her legs clad in black joggers.

They flip on the television above the fireplace in the main room as they wait for room service, and it's on a channel showing a Frasier rerun. They settle into the plush leather couch, not bothering to mess any further with the huge, complicated remote, returning it to its position perfectly in the center of the glass coffee table in front of the couch.

"Wait, they're at a ski lodge? I wonder if this channel is something they put together. It just shows a bunch of movies and television shows about skiing."

Christen laughs

"Think they did this on purpose?"

"Wait, their instructor is...sleeping with them?"

"Apparently."

"That's not part of the deal here, is it?" Tobin jokes. "I don't think there's enough room in the bed."

Christen laughs, keeps watching the screen for a few moments. "What is hot buttered rum, anyway?"

"Beats me."

"It sounds disgusting."

"Really? I was just thinking it sounded good."

"You would."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you have the taste buds of a child."

"Um, I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to give rum to children, Chris."

Christen laughs, her retort cut off when a knock sounds at the front door.

"Yesss, food," Tobin says, hopping up to answer it. 

Christen watches her from her spot, settled deep into the couch, and tries not to think about how easily she could sink into this facade for the whole weekend.

##

When Christen waddles out of the bedroom in her brand new oversized down ski parka, Tobin doubles over laughing.

"What?"

"My god, Chris. It's twenty degrees out, not fifty below."

"You know I get cold easily."

"Yeah, but you look like you're about to embark on a wilderness survival show in the Alaskan tundra. You're skiing. It's sunny."

"If you say so. But I can always take layers off. I can't add them once I'm out there."

"And what, ski down a slope holding that thing in your arms? It'll probably give you a whole new center of gravity."

"To each their own," Christen says primly, ending the discussion.

"Have you looked at the map at all?" Tobin asks, blessedly changing the subject. "Those hills look  _ wicked _ . I want to warm up a little first, probably won't go for the black diamonds until tomorrow. But there's a good moderate one I can use to get my ski legs back today, and it looks like it'll have a killer view. What do you say?"

"Um, I say that's...probably a little out of my league."

Tobin looks up at her in surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Well, we can start easier. Probably better for me, anyway. You know I tend to jump in too deep."

"No, you can go. I'll do the easier ones without you."

"It's fine. It'll still be fun! We can-"

"Tobin. I can't ski."

"What?"

"I can't ski."

"But your family is-"

"Rich. Yeah, I know. But my family is also from California. We like to be warm, like normal people. We went once, when I was like thirteen, but I twisted my ankle really badly like five minutes into the first lesson, so I spent the whole trip staying in the lodge and watching soccer on the big screen and drinking cocoa by the fire with a book."

"And you were fine with that?"

"Are you kidding? I had a fire. I had hot cocoa. It was great."

"But you want to try it now?"

"I do. I've meant to try skiing since I moved here, and this is the perfect chance. It is part of the reason I didn't invite anyone when I knew you wouldn't be available, though. I didn't want to drag the trip down. I'll be spending the first half of today getting lessons and the second half on the bunny slopes."

"I'll come with you."

"Tobin, don't be ridiculous. You were just talking about doing black diamond routes."

"It won't hurt me to go back to basics. Brush up on my form."

Christen rolls her eyes. "Okay, if you insist. But I don't need a babysitter."

"Tell that to your ankle."

Christen sticks out her tongue.

##

Christen spots Amy, along with her son Ryan, in the crowd for the beginner lessons.

"You see her?" Christen mutters, leaning in toward Tobin.

"She a teammate?"

Christen nods.

"I'm on it." At that, Tobin grabs her hand, which is slightly awkward with the bulk of the gloves they're both wearing, but is sweet nonetheless.

Amy spots them and waves them over, and soon, Christen is making introductions, proud of herself for not stumbling over the word "girlfriend."

They all chat for a few minutes, before the instructor calls that it's time to start. It seems Amy doesn't actually need the lessons - she's just there with Ryan.

In fact, it's mostly children and parents, but Christen does spot a few other adults standing on their own or in pairs, with no children in sight, and it makes her feel slightly better.

After a few minutes Christen can see how bored Tobin is, and she's finally able to convince her to leave.

"Only if you're sure."

"I have Amy and Ryan for company. I'll be fine."

"Okay. But call me if you need me. I have my phone volume set super loud."

"Will do."

"And watch out for those ankles!" Tobin tosses over her shoulder as she skis away, and Christen stares after her, envious of the way her movements are fluid and sure, not awkward and halting, like Christen's are.

Still, she's determined that she will be able to ski by the end of this lesson. She'll ski a bit on the bunny slopes this afternoon, then tackle the other trails with easy difficulty. One easy run in the morning as a refresher, and she'll for sure be taking on the blue squares by afternoon. Maybe even a black diamond, if she's feeling good.

She has a plan of attack.

And if Christen is good at anything, it's attacking.

##

As it turns out, Christen's attacking skills on the snow do not, in fact, rival her attacking skills on the pitch, much to her dismay.

After lunch, Tobin joins them on the bunny slopes and spends the rest of the afternoon by her side, even after Ryan and Amy abandon them for a different green circle run that's a little more difficult. Tobin stays close, helps pull Christen up when she falls, which it turns out, is very nearly a full-time job. Or at least, it feels like it.

Literally.

Even with the padding of the snow and her parka, after what had to be at least a couple dozen falls, her ass is throbbing. 

By the late afternoon, however, she finally has a breakthrough. It happens almost instantaneously. Something just clicks. Her body know where to be, where her balance is. She doesn't need to rely on her poles too much. She can keep her skis in the perfect pizza shape.

She's got it.

So, as they return their equipment for the day, she's feeling accomplished, despite being behind on her plan.

There are hot drinks being served in the lodge until five, so they trudge back toward the large building instead of their cottage, because the idea of a steaming hot mug of wassail makes Christen nearly weep with perfection.

When they reach the lodge, Christen spots several more teammates, and she gives Tobin a small nod, and Tobin immediately moves a little closer in toward her.

She would really like to sit down, but there are no seats available. Tobin clearly has the same thought, and she looks around and shrugs. 

Then Christen spies an elderly woman reaching down to grab her purse, then turning to say something to the woman beside her.

"Looks like that couple's leaving."

"Move, move, move," Tobin says under her breath, like she's a sergeant giving commands, and Christen stifles a giggle. They reach the spot just in time, only a few feet in front of another couple coming from the opposite direction, whom they pretend not to see.

Christen doesn't know if it's the atmosphere, the warmth after being out for hours in the cold, or Tobin pressed up against her side, but she feels absolutely giddy.

The feeling subsides after a minute, and she's left with a sense of contentment, a feeling of having faced a challenge and overcome it, and now she's basking in the victory.

"So. Your first day is complete. Thoughts?"

"I'm not sure which hurts more: my pride or my ass."

Tobin laughs, and it's a whole affair, a deep guffaw, causing her to throw her head back in abandon.

The sound fills Christen with a tingling warmth, and she looks at the long line of Tobin's throat, the way her jaw catches the light from the window, and she wants-

Christen pries her gaze away, looks down at her menu.

That's what she wants. A drink. She skims the menu, looking for wassail, and she laughs out loud when her gaze catches on one of the items.

"Oh my god, Tobin. Look what they have." Christen holds out her menu, and Tobin turns to look where she's pointing at  _ Hot Buttered Rum _ .

"Yes! We have to try it."

"Speak for yourself. I'm getting wassail."

"But we have to know what it tastes like! How will you ever know if you like it?"

"I'll try some of yours when you get it. As my girlfriend, it's the least you can do to share your drink."

"But how do you know I'll get it?"

  
"Because I know you."

"Touché. I'm totally getting it."

"Told you."

"Just wait. Someday I'll do something that surprises you," Tobin says with a wink, and Christen has no idea what she means by that, but her imagination could take it way too many places, so she laughs it off.

Tobin snuggles into her side, and they talk while they wait for their drinks.

"Am I doing something wrong?" Tobin asks, so quietly Christen can barely hear her over the voices of the others in the room.

"What do you mean?"

"With the, y'know. Contact."

"What? No. You're fine."

"Oh, okay. You just seemed kind of tense. Like you didn't want to relax into it."

And,  _ ha _ . If only that was her problem.

Her problem is she's afraid that if she allows herself to relax into it, she'll  _ melt _ .

She'll forget it's all a lie.

Why did she think this was a good idea again?

Christen's spiral is interrupted by the appearance of their drinks, and Tobin moves slightly away from her to retrieve hers. Christen is grateful for the space, she inhales the spicy aroma of the wassail while Tobin eyes her hot buttered rum cautiously.

Christen smirks. "So?"

"Give me a sec. I just want to fully appreciate it."

Tobin blows gently into her mug, then takes a hesitant sip. Her face contorts slightly, and she smacks her lips together thoughtfully a couple of times after she swallows.

Christen starts to speak, but Tobin holds up a finger and takes another sip, swishing it around her mouth slightly before she swallows.

"What's the verdict?"

"That," Tobin says, "is the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted."

"Oh no!" Christen dissolves into giggles. "You were so sure you'd love it."

"It sounded so good! Hot drink! Alcohol! Butter! Where could they go wrong?"

"For one thing, butter doesn't belong in drinks."

"Yeah, yeah. Your turn." 

Tobin holds out her mug, and Christen takes it. Tobin keeps her empty hand extended.

"What?"

"A drink of your wassail?"

"That wasn't part of the deal."

Tobin's jaw drops. "I mean, not officially, but it was unwritten! You get a sip, I get a sip. It's common girlfriend etiquette."

"Say please?"

"Pretty please?" Tobin asks, making her eyes comically large, and Christen can't hold back her smile.

"Okay, here you go."

Tobin takes a sip of the wassail. "Ooh, this is really good. I'm ordering this tomorrow," Tobin says. "Okay. Your turn."

Christen steels herself, lifting the mug to her lips. She takes a sip, and the drink is hot and velvety against her tongue, sweet with just the right bit of spice and the bite from the rum.

Christen swallows, gaping over at Tobin.

"You didn't like this? It's amazing. I'll totally switch with you," Christen says, taking another drink.

"Order your own," Tobin says, reaching over to pluck the mug out of her hands.

"Hey! But you didn't like it."

"Are you kidding? It's bomb. Just wanted to make you think you were wrong for a sec," she grins, handing Christen's drink back to her, and Christen narrows her eyes.

"You're a jerk, you know that?"

"Then why are you dating me?"

"You must have other skills that make up for it."

"Oh, I have skills," Tobin says in a voice that has dropped half an octave, and it should sound ridiculous, it  _ should _ . Instead, it sends a bolt of lightning straight down into Christen's gut, and suddenly it's hard to breathe.

Christen stares down at her mug, tries to come up with some witty retort. Instead, the best she can come up with is, "Like helping me up after I fall a hundred times in a day?"

She dares to meet Tobin's eyes again, and for a second, she's wearing a strange expression Christen can't quite place. But then it's gone, and she's back to her normal, easygoing self.

"Yes. Exactly."

##

The next morning, Christen had expected to be sore. What she hadn't expected was that she would be  _ this _ sore.

She groans when she climbs out of bed, stays extra long in the steaming hot shower, does a few yoga moves targeted toward the problem areas.

It helps, but she's definitely still feeling it when they hit the slopes the next morning.

"This is ridiculous," Christen gripes, as they take the ski lift back from their first run, one of the easy green circles. "I'm an athlete. I work out all the time."

"But these are different muscle groups. Your body-"

Christen waves her off. "Yeah, yeah, I know the science. I just want to complain, because I'm in pain. As my fake girlfriend, you are duty bound to listen."

"Ah, my mistake. I'm all ears."

They've arranged to meet Amy and Ryan mid-morning, and Christen joins them while Tobin skis off toward the more advanced hills with a quick, "See you later, babe. Be safe."

After a little while, it's clear that Christen has definitely surpassed Ryan, who is still rather clumsy and making rookie mistakes. It's okay, of course, and she isn't judging him, but she's secretly slightly relieved. She hates herself slightly for being competitive - even only privately, in the depths of her heart - with a child, but  _ honestly _ . Who wouldn't be offended to have a seven year old be better than them? Most people just wouldn't admit it.

Still, they have a blast, and Christen is surprised when she discovers it is already time for lunch. She says her goodbyes and goes to meet Tobin for lunch. She regales Tobin with stories from the morning over the warm comfort food, happy that it's the offseason, and she can eat macaroni and cheese without a trainer commenting on it the next day. Tobin, likewise, shares her stories of her excursion down the black diamond hills, wondering if she should attempt the one double black diamond run or not. They run into Elizabeth, and Tobin quickly shifts into Girlfriend Mode, reaching for Christen's fingers and smiling at her with a gentle, warm smile.

Then Elizabeth leaves, and she turns it off so quickly that Christen nearly gets whiplash. Not that Normal Tobin is particularly withdrawn or taciturn, but that expression she makes when she stares at Christen like she's the only thing in the world...it's enough to disorient anyone.

Christen shakes off the effects and carries on the conversation like normal, and after they've let their food settle for a bit, they head back onto the slopes.

"You sure you're ready for this?" Tobin asks, as they head toward a medium-level, blue square rated trail. 

"Hell yes," Christen says, with enthusiasm she doesn't have to fake at all, because even though she's feeling the ache of her muscles once again after having been still so long for lunch, she's hungry for a challenge.

Just as they reach the peak, the wind picks up suddenly, flinging Christen's ponytail back into her face, and she laughs. "Wow, what a gust!"

Tobin laughs, too, then pulls her goggles down over her eyes.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be. Let's do this."

And they do.

It's fast and brilliant and breathtaking and more than a little challenging, but Christen makes it to the bottom without falling, and she holds her poles up in victory.

They run every blue square trail the resort offers, and Christen does fall a few times, but nothing compared to the day before. Once, Tobin tries to catch her, and they end up flopped onto the snow side-by-side, laughing.

"You know you're not supposed to try to catch me."

"It was instinct."

"Now how are you going to help me up?"

They laugh some more, then climb to their feet. They do one last run together, finishing it just as the sun begins to dip toward the mountain peaks. Christen sends Tobin off to do one more difficult run, like Christen knows she's itching to, and Christen goes back to the most challenging of the blue squares. She's yet to make it down without falling, but as she stands at the top, she just has that  _ feeling _ . Like she does when she's so far away from the goal that logic tells her she won't be able to make it. But she feels the ball coming for her, feels exactly where she needs to hit and how hard, to get the right amount of force and that perfect curve, dropping it right in to the corner of the net.

She has that feeling, and she follows it, and she makes it to the bottom without a hitch.

She lets out a shout of victory, gets a high-five from a random stranger, and rides the high of the run all the way back to the equipment return, where she waits for Tobin.

Tobin's run must have been longer, because she shows up fifteen minutes later, looking exhausted but victorious. She returns her things, then meets Christen.

"Have a good time?"

"Amazing. I'm officially a skiing convert." 

"I'm glad." They start off toward their cottage, walking side by side, Christen's legs aching pleasantly. "God, I wish I would have brought my paints," Tobin breathes, and Christen follows her gaze toward the sun setting over the peaks of the mountains.

"It's beautiful." Majestic, almost, though she doesn't say it.

Tobin nods, like she's agreeing with the silent thought, like saying anything further would break the peace of the moment. It's an odd thought, because there are still plenty of people around, and they can hear shouts and laughter from a distance.

But Christen follows her lead, and they walk in silence all the way back to the cottage.

##

There is a flier under their door that evening inviting them to holiday party at the lodge. Apparently, the Saturday before Christmas warrants a slightly more formal activity than their usual game nights.

"I didn't bring anything formal," Christen frets.

"It says casual attire is fine."

"Still, it sounds fancy."

"Just wear those jeans with the red sweater you packed. The really soft-looking one. You'll look great. You always look great."

Christen smiles. "Okay, then."

It's a simple enough plan. They shower and eat, then turn on The Santa Clause, planning to leave for the lodge when the movie is over.

Instead, they fall asleep.

Christen wakes up to a room that's completely shrouded in darkness, and it takes a few seconds to orient herself. She fell asleep watching a movie.

They both did, judging from Tobin's soft snores sounding just above her. Something about that makes her crane her neck around, and she realizes with a start that her head is in Tobin's lap. Tobin is wedged into the plush corner of the oversized sofa, and Christen had fallen asleep with her head on one of Tobin's legs. She wants to jerk away quickly, but she also doesn't want to wake Tobin.

Instead, she feels around the couch for her phone and finds it, pressing the unlock button to reveal that it's only 8 PM. 

Only an hour after they had planned to leave, but in her post-nap state, she has the strangest feeling that she's woken up in another dimension.

For a split second, she wonders if, in this one, maybe Tobin is her girlfriend for real.

The thought jars her out of her strange state, and she yawns and stretches, pulling herself up to a sitting position. The action wakes Tobin, who stops snoring immediately.

"Chris?" Her voice is raspy.

"Hey. Looks like we missed the beginning of the party."

"Just the beginning?"

"Yeah, it's only eight."

"Oh." She heaves out a gigantic yawn, "Great," she says, her mouth still ajar.

"Still want to go?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Why not?"

"Okay. Give me a second. I fell asleep with my contacts in, and my eyes aren't happy about it."

Christen nods, then realizes Tobin wouldn't be able to see her in the dark. "Great. I'll go put my shoes on."

They split up, Christen heading for the bedroom and flipping on the light while she tries to talk some sense into herself.

This is ridiculous. She had gotten better about the Tobin thing. It isn't like she spends her life pining - she goes on dates. 

Not very often, and not particularly successfully, but she does. 

She'll be glad when this whole thing is behind them, and she can just see Tobin has a friend again. Everything will be back to normal.

Then Tobin comes into the bedroom wearing a hunter green sweater, her hair down, and her small, black rectangle framed glasses perched on her nose, and Christen forgets how to breathe.

Fuck.

##

The party is fun, all soft lights and music and cookies and laughter. There's a huge fire going in the hearth, lending just the faintest scent of woodsmoke to the air, and Christen loves everything about this.

"So, Girlfriend Mode for the whole party, right? I assume there are probably lots of teammates about?" Just as Tobin finishes talking, Christen catches a glimpse of Becky through the crowd.

"Uh, yeah. Good call."

"Got it." Instantly, her hand is resting lightly on the small of Christen's back, and Christen knows that she can't logically be feeling the heat of her fingers through the sweater, but her skin feels on fire anyway. She swallows. "Let's go find some food."

They do. There is a huge spread, mostly comprised of a wide variety of festive cookies, but there's also a selection of cheeses, crackers, and different flavors of gourmet popcorn.

Tobin's first selection is a gingerbread, which she eats slowly, making animated noises as she bites of each of his appendages and then his head, and Christen tries not to laugh. "You're ridiculous."

"You love me."

"I do."

And the words-

Well, Christen isn't sure if they're meant in the platonic friendship sense or the Fake Girlfriend sense, and she doesn't know if she means them in the real way or not, but she's too afraid to delve too deep into her feelings to find out. Instead, she ignores them, spinning around to grab some punch.

Except as she spins around, she finds herself face to face with Vero.

"Oh, hey!" Vero greets with a smile.

"Hey!" Christen returns. "I thought you were here this weekend. Wondered if we weren't going to run into you."

"Oh, are you the famous girlfriend?" Vero asks, turning to Tobin.

"That's me. I'm Tobin. The girlfriend," Tobin says, and she puts one arm around Christen's waist even as she reaches out the other to shake Vero's hand. How is she always so warm?

"Nice to meet you." 

"Likewise."

"¿Así que, te gustan las mujeres con el pelo castaño, huh, Press?" she asks with a wink, and Christen rolls her eyes and laughs.

"Al parecer." Because, well. Apparently, she does have a thing for brunettes.

"I'm just teasing. I'm happy for you," Vero continues in Spanish. "And I'm glad you went for it! I could tell from the way you talked about her that it was just a matter of time."

"Oh, no, we're just-" Christen catches her instinctual denial in the nick of time, stumbling to complete the sentence with something that doesn't out her as the liar she has apparently become. "...uh. Really looking forward to the rest of our stay."

Vero tilts her head slightly, a confused smile on her face, which makes sense as they all leave in the morning. "Okay," she says, switching back to her lightly accented English. "Well, I'll leave you to it, then. See you around. Tobin, nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too."

Vero walks away, and Tobin turns to Christen.

"Want to get some more cookies?"

"Sure."

As they continue to make their rounds at the party, it becomes clear there isn't actually much in the way of activities. Christen enjoys herself, talking to teammates and new acquaintances, but after a while, she starts to realize Tobin is acting strangely.

She's still holding Christen's hand and staying by her side and acting like the perfect girlfriend. But while her hands are nearly always somewhere on Christen's person, she doesn't actually talk to her. She answers if spoken to directly, but she doesn't lean in toward Christen to point out the open love seat they used earlier, or to mention the hot buttered rum on the menu, or to do anything. 

Christen tries to shoot her questioning glances, but Tobin just avoids her gaze.

Finally, Christen takes her hand and leads her out the side door, to the huge patio that would be overlooking the mountains in the daylight. As it is, the patio is lit with soft strings of lights, and there are huge, fat snowflakes floating around lazily. It's biting cold, but Christen crosses her arms against the temperature and regards the woman in front of her.

"What?"

"What's your problem?"

"I don't have one."

"Yes, you do. You're being weird."

"I know. I'm in Girlfriend Mode."

"No, it's not that. It's something else. Is something wrong?"

Christen can't read her face very well in the dim light, but Tobin hesitates. "So, something is wrong."

"I mean, not really."

"Clearly so. You've been like for a while. Almost since we got here. Since-" Christen breaks off, comprehension dawning, followed just as quickly by doubt and confusion. "Since we talked to Vero."

"She's your ex, right?"

Christen frowns. "Yeah, so?"

"You know, you could've told me that this whole thing was really to make her jealous." Tobin grins in a strange way Christen doesn't know how to interpret, the shadows falling across her face making it look more like a grimace. "I would have laid it on thicker, y'know. Really put on a show."

"What are you talking about?"

"C'mon. You don't think I figured it out?"

"There's nothing to figure out. I told you everything, and none of it had to do with Vero."

"Really?"

"Really. Trust me, that's ancient history. It was a little weird when she first got here, but we worked through it, and we're friends and teammates. That's all."

"Oh."

"Besides, she has a girlfriend."

"Oh," Tobin says again, then, "A real one?" she asks with a smirk, and Christen snorts out a small chuckle.

"As far as I know. And it wouldn't matter, even if she didn't."

"Why is that?"

She has a split second to decide.

But she's had enough of the lies. She's sick of them.

So she tells the truth.

"You're the only girlfriend I want," Christen says, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she can stop them. There's a rushing in her ears, and she's suddenly suffused with heat even though it must be subzero out here, and she can't believe she's actually said these words out loud, but finally, finally, she will have an answer.

But Tobin just takes it in stride, as part of their game. "And I'll be the best fake girlfriend ever," she says with a decisive nod.

Christen swallows against the lump forming in her throat. It's not an answer, but it's enough that she can infer one. Tobin is completely fine with playing her fake girlfriend, while Christen wants the real thing.

"Shall we?" Tobin extends her arm, and Christen threads hers through it wordlessly. They walk back inside, and Christen is overwhelmed by the heat of the room, the joy of the party. She lets herself take a couple deep breaths as they stand in the doorway, tries to get back in the spirit of things.

She sees Ryan pass by with a plate piled high with what must be a dozen cookies in a single stack, and she leans in toward Tobin and points. Tobin laughs softly.

"Brave kid. I'd have gone with two stacks, myself. That's gonna come crashing down any second."

They watch as he continues on his trek back to Amy, carefully placing one foot in front of the other as he keeps up his balancing act.

Then there's a sudden, loud tinkling sound, like bells ringing. Christen looks to her left and sees the older lesbian couple from the love seat that afternoon. One of them is ringing a silver bell, and they're both watching Tobin and Christen expectantly.

"What?"

"This is the mistletoe bell," the woman says, as though that clears anything up.

"What does that mean?" Tobin asks.

"You're under the mistletoe, dears. Surely you know what that means."

Christen looks up, and-

There it is. Over the doorway they've been lingering under for the past minute.

Mistletoe.

She meets Tobin's gaze, her heart in her throat, her mind blank. She doesn't know what to do. Should she offer her cheek? Should she fight the tradition? Should she-

And then Tobin is leaning in, her lips brushing against Christen's, so lightly, as light as a flower petal brushing against her skin.

Then she's gone.

Christen can't move. She's paralyzed. She wants to press her fingers to her lips, wants to box up the memory, wrap it in the most beautiful paper. Put it somewhere where she can remember every sensation of it, always. Where she could maybe change it, just a little. Make Tobin's lips linger just a touch longer. Pretend Tobin's hand came up to grasp her hip, that she pulled her close. That she moved her lips to Christen's ear, whispered, " _ Let's do this for real _ ."

But none of that happened, and Christen needs to face reality. So she forces herself to move, even though her limbs feel stiff and uncoordinated. She blames it on the soreness from skiing.

A waitress passes by with tiny cups of hot cocoa garnished with candy canes, and Tobin says, "Ooh, hot cocoa!"

So Christen goes with her to get some hot cocoa, and she drinks the hot cocoa in slow sips, even though Tobin downs hers like a shot. 

She will make it through the rest of the party, and then she can sleep.

##

  
  


Christen can't sleep. She wants to blame the long nap she took earlier, something she isn't accustomed to. But it's her mind refuses cooperate, refuses to be quiet even for a few seconds, even as she tries to sink into meditation as she has done a thousand times.

She has to talk to Tobin.

She won't talk to her about the kiss. That will be saved for tomorrow, once she's safely alone in her own apartment. When she can relive it or cry or drink half a bottle of wine or watch a romcom. Whatever she needs to mourn, so she can move on.

But there's just one tiny, nagging detail that she can't get past.

"Tobin?" Christen asks, no louder than the whisper of a ghost. She is pretty certain Tobin is still awake, but she doesn't want to wake her if not.

"Yeah?" Tobin's voice is rough and sleepy, but she's awake.

"Why were you so upset about the Vero thing?" Christen's heart is thumping hard in her chest so hard she can barely hear herself think.

"Oh. Sorry about that."

"No, you're fine, I was just wondering why it upset you."

"Well." Tobin thinks for a few moments, and then says, "It was just...that would've changed things, y'know? This whole weekend was about pulling one over on your entire team, yeah, but it was just a silly thing and didn't really matter."

She pauses for so long that Christen thinks that maybe she's fallen asleep. But finally, she continues. "But once you put people into the mix...I just didn't like thinking I was being used like that. I don't believe in the whole manipulation thing when it comes to people's feelings. You shouldn't mess with them like that."

"I get that. And for the record, I would never use you like that. I don't believe in it either."

Tobin sighs. "Good. And I'm sorry, for assuming that about you. I misread the situation, and I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It was a logical mistake to make, under the circumstances."

"So we're okay?"

"Always," Christen breathes, and her brain quiets, and slowly, she drifts off to sleep.

##

For the third morning in a row, Christen wakes in the same bed as Tobin. Unlike the previous mornings, though, Christen doesn't find herself in the same position she fell asleep in, facing the closet and hugging the edge of the bed. Sometime during the night, she had turned over and inched toward the center of the bed, as has Tobin. She isn't in Tobin's arms. Surely that would have woken her. But there's only a foot of space between them, and they're facing each other, though Tobin is still deeply asleep. 

She has the tiniest bit of drool on her pillow.

Christen admits to herself that she must be dangerously far gone, that she finds this adorable.

So, there it is. No more secrets. No more hidden boxes. 

She's in love with Tobin.

You have to face your monsters before you can get past them, right? 

Christen lies there in the pre-dawn light, thinking back over when her feelings must have started, and how they've developed. And then she thinks about next steps. She as good as has assurance that Tobin doesn't feel the same way, so there's nothing to do but move on.

Maybe she'll start going to that coffee shop more often. See if she runs into the blonde again. What was her name? Kara? 

Or dating apps. There's a whole world out there. She'll be okay. 

Feeling slightly better, Christen drifts back into sleep.

##

The drive home seems to go by in a flash, even though it takes two hours. Before Christen knows it, they're parked in the lot beside her building, and Tobin is offering to help carry up her bags.

"Oh, yes, please. I overpacked like crazy."

"I'm shocked," Tobin says mildly as she removes the keys from the ignition, very much inferring the opposite.

"Shut up. I like to be prepared."

"Plus that coat of your must have taken up an entire suitcase on its own."

"It did not!" She'd been able to stuff in a few things around it, at least.

Tobin continues teasing her as they huff and puff up to her third floor apartment, each of them lugging a large bag. 

Finally, they reach Christen's apartment, and she flips on the light, sees her decorations on the wall and her succulents on the counters. The picture of her and Tobin she has stuck to her fridge with a magnet.

They make their way to the rear of her apartment, where her bedroom is, and then drop the bags on the bed.

"Thanks for helping me carry all this."

"No problem."

Tobin turns to go, and Christen stops her. "Wait!"

"Yeah?"

"I almost forgot. I got you something from the resort gift shop." When Tobin's brow wrinkles, she adds. "Last night, during the party."

Christen holds out a postcard, and Tobin takes it, still looking slightly confused.

"You know postcards are something you usually give people who weren't with you, right?"

"Turn it over." 

Tobin obeys, and comprehension dawns when she sees the picture of the mountains at sunset.

"I know it's nothing compared to how you could have captured it with your paints, but I still wanted you to have something to remember it by."

Tobin stares at the card and says nothing, and for a second, Christen thinks that maybe Tobin doesn't even remember. Maybe she had added extra significance to something that had no meaning in the first place.

And then Tobin steps toward her, and Christen barely has time to inhale before Tobin is kissing her.

It isn't at all like the mistletoe. She doesn't step away at once, and there aren't eyes peering at them curiously. It's just the two of them, in her bedroom, next to a half-empty basket of laundry, and Tobin is kissing her like she's hungry, like she's never going to come up for air again, and Christen hopes she doesn't, hopes she can continue on like this forever, her blood zinging through her veins. She wants to continue discovering all these new things about her best friend she never knew before. The way her lips feel against Christen's. The taste of the inside of her mouth, like chocolate and peppermint. The way she gasps slightly when Christen runs a hand under her shirt, across her stomach.

Christen's hair is down and loose, and Tobin spears her fingers into the thick tresses, angles her head slightly, so she can kiss her more deeply, and Christen wraps her arms around Tobin's shoulders and holds on as tightly as she can. If she holds on tight enough, maybe this reality won't escape.

But it doesn't work, and Tobin steps back abruptly.

"Wha-" Christen's voice breaks off, and she has to clear her throat. "What was that?"

"I'm so sorry, fuck. I should have asked. I meant to ask."

"No, it's fine, I Just-" Christen's brain is running faster than even her body is capable of - which is saying something, as she's Christen fucking Press - but she still can't seem to process what just happened. "What was that?" she asks again.

"Um, a kiss? I've been dying to do that for, uh... " Tobin's cheeks flush. "For a while now. But I wanted to wait until it was real, y'know? I didn't want you to think I'd gotten confused with all the stuff this weekend, and I didn't want you to be pressured because of the circumstances." Tobin takes a deep breath. "So. Thoughts?"

This isn't real. There's no way this is real. There's no way Tobin Heath is standing in her bedroom, Christen's bed unmade, and Tobin's feet dangerously close to a pair of underwear she's pretty sure aren't clean.

But she closes her eyes for a second, and when she opens them again, Tobin is still standing there, her gaze open and honest and so, so soft. Softer than she ever looked at Christen this weekend.

And if this is what Tobin looks like when she wants to kiss her, Christen thinks she might spend the rest of her life doing just that.

"I think I'd very much like to do that again."

Tobin's cheeks flush, and her lips slowly curl up into a radiant grin. "Yeah?"

Christen nods. "Yeah."

They just stare at each other for a few seconds, a million thoughts fluttering around Christen's head like snowflakes in a blizzard. One in particular stands out, enough for her to ask it before she moves back in for another in what she hopes will be a long line of kisses. "What do you mean, you've wanted to kiss me for so long? Is that just you being dramatic, or…"

"I think that's more of a third date revelation."

Christen's heart thumps away in her chest, and for once, she doesn't try to berate it. "So, we're going to go on dates now?"

"As long as you'd like to."

Christen leans in again. "Most definitely"

##

A week later, she flies to Jersey with Tobin for Christmas. She's met the family before, when they came to visit Tobin for her birthday last year, but they're all surprised to see her standing beside Tobin in the cozy living room with a large, lit Christmas tree in one corner.

"Hey, Ma."

"Tobin, my love. Christen! So good to see you, my dear. I'm sorry, I had no idea you were coming, I would have made sure there were gifts for you under the tree." She eyes Tobin reproachfully. "This one needs to learn to be a better communicator." 

"Tell me about it," Christen says conspiratorially, and Tobin says, "Hey!" in a mock-offended tone, like she doesn't accidentally leave her phone at home at least once a week. They wonder further into the room, receiving greetings from various family members.

One of Tobin's nieces - she isn't sure which one - looks up at her with a confused expression. "You're not a cousin, are you?"

Christen laughs. "No, I'm not a cousin."

"She's something way better than that," Tobin says, pulling her in for a quick peck.

And Christen grins and grins, and she does her new favorite thing: she tells the truth. "I'm her girlfriend."


End file.
